To Rejoice In
by A Bittersweet Symphony
Summary: Following the deaths of his father and brother, Paris has hit his lowest of lows. Can he find anything good about his new life?


Dear Mother, the war is over. 

That was as far as he'd gotten so far. Paris sat in his room, trying to imagine what he would write to his mother once things calmed down. She had gone to stay with relatives, and had only recently learned of the deaths of his father and brother. The last contact they had had consisted of her scolding him like a child for running off with Helen. Chiding him and even blaming those deaths on him. As if he could help Achilles' sword!  
The sun streamed in lazily through the window, a happy, everyday thing that almost made him angry because it cast his miserable loss in even blacker shadow. He was a fugitive, stripped of his power by his cowardice. At least that was what they told him. Though he could not logically have stood his ground against Agamemnon's fleet, in his heart he wanted to slaughter them like chickens.  
He and Helen had fled to a small island in the Mediterranean, so small it had yet to be named. Only the two of them, some servants, and the remains of Hector's army had made it, on two ships. They brought a few animals, the originals expended on sacrifices to the gods and the offspring remaining. Thankfully they thrived in the similar climate. Helen spent her days examining the many plants on the island, as was her hobby. It made sense for a beautiful woman to want to study other beautiful things. Now she stood in the door, watching him. He felt her eyes in his back but did not turn until she moved toward him and spoke at last.  
"Paris, come outside with me."  
"I have no interest in botany, my love."  
"I know that." She sat down next to him, looking at him sadly. His face no longer held the radiant glow of ambition, for his future was bleak. When the war ended – if the war ended – Troy would be utter ruins. He would have to start all over without the assistance of his wise father and strong older brother, and even to her that looked like a daunting task. Paris had never been one for good decision making, even if he had the heart of a hero.  
"What did you come in for?" He questioned, finally looking at her.  
"I have news." She said, smiling. As she said this she got up and poured wine for him, setting the goblet down in front of him. He vaguely acknowledged her words, nodding, his mind focused on the cup before him. It had been Hector's; he recognized it instantly. It was a little bigger than his, for he had complained about it many times as an adolescent. Now he was forced into manhood, the same that he had yearned for as a foolish prince, and he saw the goblet differently. He viewed a piece of very pretty ash, the only remains of Priam's great empire. The wine within looked too much to him like blood and he pushed it aside, not wanting to drink. The fire that was Troy had died explosively and this, like everything on the island aside from the dirt and his wife's beloved flowers, was the shadow of what had been and would never be again. He could not shoulder such a burden. It was selfish, but he would not do it.  
Now Helen brought over their son, Apollo, named after the god of his past. Paris no longer believed in gods, but Helen had insisted, and he always bent to her will. She would make a far better ruler for whatever new Troy might be created than he would. The boy was only two, and he was still fascinated by things such as horses and the wings of birds and his mother's endless ability to make miracles happen. He had his father's dark, curly hair but his mother's trusting, hopeful eyes. Like the sunshine it further hardened Paris's heart.  
"Did you hear me, Paris."  
"Yes."  
"Well, do you want to know or not."  
"Tell me." At last he turned to her.  
"We're going to have another baby." She smiled.  
"Are we?" A smile appeared on his face. He felt hope spring cautiously within him again. This smile was not forced or false. He was not alone after all.  
"Maybe another son."  
"Maybe."  
Helen sat down next to him once more. "This island is full of wonder. Apollo loves it. I'm sure this baby will love it, too. Don't you think so."  
Paris nodded. "There are always things to be discovered."  
Helen elbowed him slightly. "We should celebrate tonight. You can announce it before the men. Perhaps by the time the baby is born, the war will be over."  
"I don't want Apollo to know about the war." Paris sent the boy back outside before speaking further. "I want him to enjoy life."  
"Even in war, there are always things to rejoice in." Helen took Paris's hand, entwining her fingers in his and squeezing his hand, laying her head on his shoulder. "I love you."  
"I love you, too." He said to her quietly, a secret shared between them. "We are alive."  
"I will rejoice in that." She decided with a smile.


End file.
